Homecoming
by calypcso
Summary: Aedion would die to see his cousin again, but does Aelin feel the same way? An unconventional meeting of sorts. Multichapter fic
1. An Unconventional Meeting

**So I've been rather guilty having this stuck on Word docs for so long without uploading for you guys to enjoy. This is a standalone, multichapter fanfic and has nothing to do with my Assassin's series so sorry for those who were looking forward to another one. I guess you could say that this is a alternate version of The Assassin's Brother, but Homecoming is A LOT more killer, angry assassin (Yup, there's going to be slight Chaolaena bashing so heads up).**

**This was inspired by the part in Heir of Fire where Aelin told Rowan she didn't know whether Aedion would hate her for becoming what she did and I think part of Aelin is afraid of what Aedion would do to her if they met, hence, "an unconventional meeting". **

**On to the chapter...**

...

Slender hands twinned around Aedion's arm, tugging him insistently to a halt. He spun with a scowl. He was already late for his meeting with the captain and had no time to dawdle, nor coin to spare for the vagabonds the slums of Rifthold had in abundance.

A delicate, feminine face peered up at him with a hazy smile. Aedion's scowl dropped. The girl nearly swayed into him, and he reined in a curse, as he steadied her with a hand. The familiar scent of sweet smoke of opium wreathed her like a cloud.

Soft light poured from a neighboring establishment and his keen ears picked up the lilting strains of a harp, hushed laughter. She was so young– couldn't have been older than Aelin– a courtesan already?

Her lashes fluttered up at him, exquisite green eyes wide and gleaming. "Won't you stay, milord?" she purred, slurring the words. The courtesan's shoulders were bared, her thin robe cinched with a string of a belt.

Aedion was no stranger to _those_ activities–had bedded more women he cared to count– but always with their enthusiastic consent and adequate protection.

He gently pushed her away. "Not today." _Not ever_.

She pouted, full luscious lips pursing in childish defiance. "I will make it worth your while," the courtesan whispered huskily. She drifted closer, trailing a light finger down his chest. She played with the buttons at his naval, crooking a finger inside his shirt to invite him closer. Aedion retreated a step.

"No thanks," he muttered averting his eyes, as the robe dipped even lower. The courtesan heaved a tragic sigh.

"Pity, you're such a young one as well. Knew it was too good to be true." She patted his arm. "I respect your loyalty, milord. Your wife is one lucky woman." The girl gave him a sad smile.

Aedion opened his mouth to protest. _He had no wife_, he wanted to clarify, but the girl had already left.

He heard the captain behind him as Aedion watched the young courtesan try her luck with another man. "What does it say about your city," Aedion said quietly, "when girls are sold to a brothel to pleasure rich men, just to be cast away once their beauty fades?"

Chaol's jaw was clenched. "Is that not why we are fighting? To change things?"

Aedion watched him. "Is Aelin and your prince the only reason you aid our cause, or is it guilt that drives you for all those years you have neglected your city– your country."

"I am– I was the Captain of Guard," he said through gritted teeth. "The royal family was my concern first and foremost."

"The common people are always to be first and foremost, Captain. Adarlan bred honour and loyalty into you. You expect me to believe you changed allegiances for a woman?" Aedion challenged.

Chaol whipped to face him. "Get one thing straight, general," he breathed, eyes alight with fury. "I have not switched allegiances. I have and always will side with my king." Grief etched lines over his face, making the captain seem almost world-weary, decades old. But he was a child compared to him. The captain won't ever know the hate of his people. The Northern Wolf. Adarlan's whore.

In Aedion's opinion, Dorian's death would be deserved. The Havaillard family could burn for all he cared. In fact, Aedion would dance on their graves, damning them to hell– but his queen would care if her friend died. Aelin would care very much, and Aedion would do anything, even go back into those blasted dungeons to rescue the prince if it saved his queen even the tiniest bit of unnecessary pain.

It had been nearly a month since the captain and Ren had busted him out of prison, but Aedion could still remember the pressing darkness, the dank air, and clank of the iron shackles as it sealed his fate. The only thing that had got him though was thinking upon his cousin's quiet strength. The remarkable dignity it must have cost her to be convicted as a criminal and sentenced to slave for the very empire that had slaughtered her family and kingdom. A princess of her people. A slave.

Aedion's hands shook just thinking about it. They itched to kill, to destroy. A hand strayed to the empty loop in his belt, one that once held the Sword of Orynth. He had failed that mission too. Aelin will never hold her father's sword. Her heirloom.

Chaol stayed silent as if sensing the roiling blackness Aedion's consciousness had turned into.

"Any news of her?" he asked numbly, changing the subject. There had been no news of Aelin since the Battle of the Cambrian Mountains. Not a hint to her whereabouts. It was as if the past few months had been a dream.

The captain seemed to hesitate, and Aedion glanced at him sharply, shoving him into a small street. He surveyed the alley. A scorching glare, a flash of teeth and all the alley's occupants found elsewhere to be.

A wave of hope surged through his veins and for a moment he could finally breathe– breathe through the agony of the past weeks. His eyes fluttering shut, a shudder ripping though his body. Aelin. Steeling himself, Aedion braced himself on the wall and turned toward Chaol, opening his eyes. "Why didn't you immediately say something?" he snapped. "What did you learn of her?" He felt his fingers tremble and he shoved them into his pockets. "I– is she alright? Hurt at all? Gods above," he muttered, pushing off the wall to pace. Maeve had to have done something with Aelin so close to her.

"She– I think she's back," Chaol said faltering under the general's fervor. "There are rumors on the street– that Arobynn Hamel was killed. There is no information on his successor, but we shouldn't get our hopes up. It was just a rumor after all. We will only be able to find Celae– Aelin if she wants to be found."

Aedion squeezed his eyes shut, breathing deeply. She was finally within reach. _Aelin_. He took a shuddering breath, his throat closing up and nodded. "Then we'll go for your prince first. It shouldn't be hard to poke around to determine if he's still alive."

The captain flinched. "He will be. Dorian has to be," he said tightly.

Aedion slowly raised an eyebrow. "And if he isn't?"

Chaol tossed him a tired glare.

"We will wait for Ren and his old man, Lord Sol and his brother to join us," Aedion said resolutely. "Then find out whether Ren's spies have discovered anything, before we strike."

"Agreed."

...

Aedion slowed his breathing as he crouched near the castle wall. "We need to climb the fence," he murmured for the benefit of his companions. "Beyond this point is a sewer gate. No guards patrol here." And just because he could, he said, "Perhaps the esteemed royal guards are lax."

Chaol hissed out a breath, but said nothing.

"How did you ever find this place?" Sol inquired, the first civil response Aedion had gotten from him all night. The moon illuminated the trickling, muck-filled river beyond the railings and the rugged stone of the shadowed archway– their ticket into the castle.

"I didn't," Aedion said shortly. "The queen did."

Murtaugh narrowed his eyes. "I thought Maeve was hiding her in Doranelle." Chaol shot Aedion a warning look. _Tread carefully_, he seemed to say.

The general weighed his options, as they turned toward him for an answer. "There is strong evidence that she returned to this continent," Aedion said at last.

Ravi raised an eyebrow. "So you have seen her?" Aedion didn't answer, and silence reigned for a moment, before Ren came to his rescue.

"I don't see how the Queen's return has anything to do with this mission," Ren said in his usual irritable manner.

Ravi's face shifted into one of quiet calculation. "I tend not to trust things I cannot see with my eyes, Lord Allsbrook. And the gods know I would hold the word of a traitor with as much regard as I would the King of Adarlan's." he said, with a pointed look at Aedion.

Chaol and Ren braced a warning hand on the seething general, but he shook them off with a growl. Sol reached for his sword as Aedion snarled, snapping his teeth at the younger lord of Suria, "My allegiance has always been with my queen. These years have changed nothing."

Ravi stayed far, far away from Aedion's reach–smart man–but his eyes burned with cold fury. "I would trust the word of Adarlan's whore–" Aedion lurched forward, but Ren and Chaol kept a tight grip on his arms, as he strained toward .

Sol clamped a broad hand on his brother's shoulder. "Be rational, Ravi," he murmured. "We can't afford to antagonise him. Aedion is the commander of the Bane and, ultimately, has the queen on his side." The lord of Suria sniffed. "He was always her favorite."

Chaol cocked an eyebrow at Aedion, and he grunted, but offered no explanation. With a final scorching glare at Ravi, Aedion swung himself over the railing. He landed soundlessly and stalked toward the archway. The others followed suit with a little less grace; they made muffled thumps as they landed. The sewer gate groaned as Aedion heaved it open and they all froze. When no resulting shouts came their way, they descended into the beckoning darkness.

"Ren, light a torch," the general commanded. Stone struck stone, a spark, and the damp stone walls flickered into view. The lord's face was drawn behind the guttering light.

"There's something not quite right about this place," he muttered.

Ravi snorted, "Scared of the dark?"

Ren huffed. "Hardly," he retorted. There was a shuffling sound, akin a to something dragged across the floor. Aedion lifted a hand. They quieted. "What–" Ren whispered.

Aedion cocked his head. "Do you hear that?" He strained his ears, as they crept forward, nearing the three passages. When nothing jumped out at them, Murtaugh let out a weak chuckle.

"Well that was anticlimactic." He coughed in the damp, frigid air, the sound amplified by the damp stones. Aedion almost whipped around to order the old man to quiet down but... there was something strange about the darkness of the passage on their left.

His heart thudded, his senses screaming at him to run– to run and not look back. Shadows pulsed, globs of it sliming his way, tendrils testing the air. Ren was right. Something was very wrong. Aedion tried to take a breath– hadn't even realized he was holding his breath until the putrid scent of death and decay drifted into his nostrils, closing his throat. "There's something wrong," he got out, backing away. "We have to leave. Now."

"Seriously?" Ravi demanded. "We came all the way here to cringe away from a few pesky shadows?" A stray breeze moaned around them, dousing the torch, and away with it, their only source of light. They descended into blackness. Aedion could hear the slow trickle of water, Murtaugh's rapid breaths.

"Gods, just light it again," Ravi snapped, but Aedion could hear the nervous energy behind his tone. There was a soft clack of nails against stone. Murtaugh muttered a steady stream of prayers under his breath.

Aedion swallowed, hard. "Light it now, Ren. Light it now!" There was a flare of light and Aedion grabbed for the torch, directing it toward the empty hole of darkness.

He didn't dare move.

"Oh gods, oh gods, oh gods," Murtaugh whispered, as the thing took another step toward the light in Aedion's hand. Sol swore.

Its teeth clacked together and Aedion backed away, the others pressed up behind him. The creature swung its head from side to side searching for the retreating bobbing flame in his hands. It was barely humanoid, smooth grey skin stretched over a distorted body. Its limbs bent like one of an animal, and black fangs glistened in a deep drooling mouth. Fangs used to crush and disembowel.

Aedion's substitute sword whined as he drew it as quietly as he could. "What is that thing?" Ravi whispered. Chaol was pale. The thing lifted its head and sniffed with slitted nostrils. Its eyes were black and cold, unfeeling in its hunger. The stone sparked as it dragged a clawed hand across the ground, strong enough to tear a chunk of stone.

Ren exhaled sharply.

It snarled, baring its teeth as it sank down on its haunches preparing to lunge. Ice spread through his veins, as Aedion calculated their options. If the creature charged them, it would break their legs and gods know what damage those fangs could do. No, he would lead it into one of the side corridors and the others could attack from behind.

The creature's roar echoed in the stones as it sprang. Time seemed to slow as Aedion dove to the side, narrowly missing the claws that ripped past his chest.

Something whistled past his ear and an arrow imbedded itself deep into the monster's flank. It howled and whirled on Aedion, claws tipped with blood. With a flash of steel, Ravi ran it through with his blade, and Sol shuddered as it made a wet, sucking sound. The body slumped to the stones.

"Nice kill," a feminine voice commented from the shadows. They whirled to face the newcomer, weapons brandished. Ren drew his twin swords as Sol and Ravi palmed wicked hunting knifes, their faces like stone. Black blood from that god-awful creature trickled from Ravi's blade, but still she drifted closer, unperturbed, her black cloak swirling around her like a wraith. A crossbow was slung across her slim shoulders and a flash of silver alerted him to more weapons strapped along her frame.

Aedion hoped their dim surroundings disguised his burning ears as he angled his blades into a better position to slice her throat. How had they not heard her arrival? He prided himself on his superior senses. As if in response to his thoughts, Chaol gave him a long look.

"Few roam the tunnels with a ridderak about," she murmured, stopping her advance when a few feet separated them. "You must either be extraordinarily brave or awfully foolhardy." Her cowl covered most of her features, but Aedion could still make out the angular slope of her cheek, the tinge of red to her lips. She prodded the creature's carcass with a boot. "The ridderak didn't bite any of you, did it?"

She eyed Ren as he covered his side and angled his injury away from her. The woman took a step toward the lord, but Murtaugh leveled his dagger at her without a second thought. She stopped and sounded almost reproachful as she said, "Their bite is laced with lethal fast-working poison. Killing me will not save your friend."

The old man wavered.

Chaol gently took Murtaugh's arm. "Let her," he murmured. The woman paused and gave the captain a slow nod. His lips parted and Chaol seemed on the verge of saying something, but he shut his mouth and returned the gesture.

She examined Ren's wounds with deft hands. Ren braced his body against the wall and worked to keep his face expressionless as a stranger's hands probed his body. A lifetime passed before she straightened. "You were only clawed a bit."

Murtaugh let out an explosive sigh of relief. "So he is fine?"

She shrugged languidly. "If he hasn't shown signs of dying yet, he'll probably be fine. But it'll be best if you leave. Who knows what kind of monsters dwell here?" Her words brought a shudder down Aedion's spine even as a memory tried to free itself from the pits of his consciousness. She was so _familiar_ to him somehow. He furrowed his brow as he stared at her. _When had they met?_

"That sounds awfully like a threat," Murtaugh said softly.

Their surroundings brightened as the woman lit another torch. Strange, Aedion had not seen her light a match. "I know what you are trying to achieve tonight," she said equally quiet, "and trust me when I say that it will not go well for you. If you think the ridderak is the worst you have faced– laughable by the way– I _kindly_ suggest you turn around now."

Ravi spluttered. "If you are implying we are weak–"

"Lord Ravi," there was a smile in her voice, "I mean no disrespect, but you don't even know what you are fighting against."

His teeth shone white against the light as he gaped in silence for a moment. "You know my name."

She emitted an unladylike snort. "Yes, I clearly would risk my neck following strangers around the city. You would be surprised how many tongues will come flapping your way with the proper incentive."

Ren hissed as he pushed away from the wall. "Did the King send you?"

The woman laughed quietly. "No, but I'm curious as to why you would think so."

The lord flushed as the others glared. He'd damned them all by admitting the king was after them.

She reached into her cloak and they all tensed, lifting their weapons. The woman held out her gloved hands, placating. "It's only a calling card."

When her hands reached for her cloak again, Aedion's grip tightened on his knife, but he did not strike. He... couldn't.

A weight pressed hard against his chest and somehow– somehow he understood on an inner level that if he killed her now, he would regret it for the rest of his life. It was a ridiculous notion, but it was as if his cousin was there in the moment. A warm, soft, feminine presence hovered by his shoulder, gold brushing his cheek. _Relax cousin. Now's not the time_.

The woman's hand emerged with something dull and flat. "Seek the Mistress Brackyn. "

Chaol took the card, his hands running along the embossed edges. "The patroness of arts?"

"Sometimes," she said ambiguously.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Sol demanded.

"Let's just say she's a patron of many things. You may find her a useful ally to have." The woman started to back away. "She is very good at getting things done. You must leave before you are caught."

"Why should we trust you?" Sol asked, guardedly.

"I just saved your lives," she said drily, inclining her head toward the arrow in the ridderak's body. "I'm a busy woman, milords. The night's still young. I've got places to be, people to save," the gold sword at her side gleamed, "monsters to kill."

Sol's eyes flicked to Aedion. _She knows too much. That woman can't live._

"Where are you going?" Ren asked with narrowed eyes as she edged closer and closer to that damned archway. "Did you not see the thing that just came out of it?"

Aedion shook his head in response to Sol. _If she's going into there, she's going to get herself killed anyway._

"I've faced horrible creatures," she told them, "things your greatest nightmares would shield from. This–" she gave the ridderak another kick, "–was nothing compared to some of them." She made to turn away.

Aedion could sense the roiling power in her movements, the potential of danger just beneath her surface. There was something about her that called to him and Aedion took a step in her direction. "At least tell us your name," Aedion said roughly. "Who are you?"

Her feet stalled at the threshold of the archway, and Aedion held his breath. He was oddly at a loss. Even the others quieted. She did not look at them as she said wistfully, "You know my name."

"I–"

Hardening , the woman cut him off. "There are things better left alone, general." She finally turned. Aedion could feel dark, enigmatic eyes peering at him through the hood. "We will meet again," she said with surety, "and until then..." She trailed off and shook her head. "Stay alive."

...

**Hope you enjoyed!**

**OH! And I created a Throne of Glass centric blog on tumblr: wishingonthenorthstar. Or if you feel extra bored, littlebriarosa is my writing/personal blog. Feel free to ask me anything!**

**-Silverleaf**


	2. Dropping Hints

**Heyyy, thanks you for all your lovely reviews last chapter. Hehehe, I really like this chapter because of a certain someone but I'll let you decide.**

**...**

Surprisingly, the captain had not protested as Aedion led the others out of the sewers and into the dark streets of Rifthold. Sol and Ravi had quickly muttered shaky excuses and left for the apartment they had rented for their stay.

Murtaugh and Chaol supported Ren onto the couch at Aelin's apartment as Aedion paced. His body was jittery with unspent adrenaline.

"I don't feel comfortable leaving that woman to fend herself," Aedion rumbled. Ren sagged heavily on the armchair as Murtaugh looked on worriedly. Ren must be hurt worse that he thought. Aedion paced some more. "You two tend to his injuries. I'll go after her."

Ren looked at him as he were a lunatic. "Are you crazy–" he began, then winced, clutching his side with a pained grimace. "You're going to risk your life for a stranger?"

She didn't feel like a stranger to him, Aedion thought. But of course, he couldn't say that. "She's just a woman," he said instead.

Chaol snorted.

Aedion slowly raised an eyebrow. "Something to add, captain?"

There was a strange light in his eyes as the captain met his gaze. Aedion felt Chaol was desperately trying to communicate something to him, but the moment passed and the captain dropped his gaze. "Only that you underestimate women too much, general. If you haven't forgotten, your queen is just a good of a fighter as the woman we met in the castle. She may even be better than you, for gods' sake. So _please_, give that woman the benefit of the doubt."

"He's right," Murtaugh said grimly. "We were all there. We know– _you_ know that she did not have a torch with her when we encountered her. This proves she knew what she was hunting. She had prior knowledge of what was going to be waiting for us when we got inside the castle. The woman said it herself: she has experience with these creatures that we don't. If you follow her, you may just become a liability, Aedion. She won't save you twice."

His fists open and closed helplessly, imagining the ridderak's claws ripping the woman apart. "But–"

Ren braced an arm on Chaol's shoulder as he straightened stiffly. "What is your obsession with her? You don't even know that woman."

Aedion scowled. "I'm not obsessed."

Three sceptical faces stared back at him. Aedion relented. "Fine. I'll let it go. But we still don't have the prince."

Chaol tensed. "We'll try again after we call on Mistress Brackyn," he said quickly. Too quickly. Aedion narrowed his gaze as the captain avoided his gaze.

"Who is this Mistress Brackyn?" Aedion inquired, his stare still on Chaol.

"The niece and heir of Master Brackyn– the patron of arts in Rifthold," Murtaugh answered. "Though I heard that he had recently died of illness. Mistress Brackyn, Dianna, was off frolicking in some distant continent some months before and had returned to Rifthold to make preparations for the funeral.

Ren cut in with a reverent tone. "The Brackyns are one of the most esteemed families in the city. Former merchants that hit it big after Adarlan's invasion." Chaol flinched at the word. "They say the Brackyns are as rich as the King, and have the allies to rival him too."

"We have attempted to contact him in the past," Murtaugh added in a hushed tone. "With his influence in the capital, it would make a planned rebellion that much easier, but we have never gotten a response. If his niece is willing to meet with us, we are as good as in." He paused. "It might be a trap–"

"If it was a trap, that woman would not have saved us," Chaol cut in sharply.

Murtaugh's eyes slitted, "But isn't it right strange Mistress Brackyn sent one of her own to help us. How does she know so much about the King and what stake does she have in all of this?"

Chaol let out a choked laugh. "I think ridding the world of the King is a good motivation."

"The Brackyns may not be an Adarlanian family," Ren ventured. "If they were from countries bought by conquest they wouldn't own Adarlan any loyalty."

Aedion tapped his fingers on the oak dining table, mindlessly tracing the grooves and scars. _Mistress Brackyn, Dianna, was off frolicking in some distant continent some months before and had returned to Rifthold to make preparations for the funeral._"Are Dianna and her uncle not close?" Aedion inquired.

Murtaugh looked surprised. "Oh, very close I would assume. Her uncle doted on her every whim. Many establishments in Rifthold became very successful because of their faithful patronage. And since he was training her to take his position..." he shrugged.

_Interesting._ "Do you know where she went?"

"Some say she was travelling through the Western Wastes to secure trading partners to the east, others say she studied at the Torre Cesme under their head healer. Even more speculate she may have visited Wendlyn, which now seems to me the most feasible rumour if she knew about the king."

"She may have met the queen," Ren breathed.

Chaol asked, "You mean Maeve, or Aelin?"

His eyes were bright, excited. "Both if Maeve really fostered her."

Aedion decided to change the subject. "What else do you know of her?"

Murtaugh and Ren exchanged smirks. "Well they do say she's more beautiful than Mala herself."

Aedion rolled his eyes. "Something concrete please."

Murtaugh rummaged in the medical cupboard and took out disinfectant cream and white bandages. "Those who have met her say she's very intelligent and well-traveled. Extremely wealthy in her own right as well."

"Many admirers," Ren added with a sly smile. "Can't forget that."

"Drawn in by a pretty face and a few baubles," Murtaugh said with distaste. Ren peeled his shirt off gingerly and clucked.

"Can't blame them–"

"Wait," Chaol interrupted suddenly. "Those who have met her? But she's the patroness of arts. Mistress Brackyn should have been available to anyone who needed help."

Ren glanced at him in disbelieving askance, irritable at being disrupted. "A patron of arts aids people with _talent_. The Brackyn family have brought countless drifters into positions of prestige– one of the reasons they are so renowned– but they don't grant their services to just _anyone_."

"Besides," Murtaugh added, "Erick Brackyn was quite protective of his niece. Dianna doesn't usually stay long at the events they attend together. I suppose it will be different now that she has taken over his assets."

Aedion watched as Chaol focused his attention on the carpet, chewing his lip. "She wants something," the general announced.

"No shit," Ren shot back, tensing as his grandfather cleaned the bloody lacerations on his ribs with a wet cloth.

"She's wealthy and influential enough to fund our entire operation," Murtaugh admitted, dipping a finger into the tin of salve. "If we bring her into the fold, she could hold anything over us. That kind of power imbalance could create problems."

"We make the rules," Aedion growled firmly. "She's the one joining us after all. Archer Finn's the greatest example of what happens when you mess up."

Ren winced and Chaol brought a hand up to the silvery scar on his cheek, no doubt recalling Archer's slit throat and Aelin's wrath respectively.

"She's nothing but a rich brat," Ren said, assuming a stony expression at the mention of Archer's failure. "We'll work with her on no other terms but our own."

"Dianna is good at getting what she wants," Murtaugh cautioned. "She is a skilled negotiator as was her uncle. It doesn't help that she has the charms of a kitten and the physical attributes of a siren.

Chaol's head jerked up, eyes flashing. A muscle in the captain's jaw feathered and Aedion slowly smiled. How very curious.

"Have _you _ever met her?" Aedion drawled flicking his Ashryver eyes to Murtaugh.

The old man merely raised an eyebrow. "I haven't been in Rifthold long enough to have seen her around. Dianna travels around a lot. I'm just repeating what my sources have told me."

"Do your sources tell you what she enjoys doing? Any hobbies?"

Murtaugh paused for a long moment. "She goes to the theatre often, I believe."

Aedion tilted his head. "Anything else?"

Confusion filtered into the old man's eyes. "They don't really say."

"She's one of the richest heiresses in Adarlan," Aedion murmured, "and the only things they can say about her is she's pretty and likes the theatre?"

Ren waved Murtaugh's hands away and leaned forward, his interest piqued. "So you are saying–"

"We need something on the heiress to keep her from squealing on us," Aedion said. "There's something very odd about this Brackyn woman. She has coin to spare to hid her tracks: where she has been, whom she meets, what she does. Dianna might as well be smoke– we know nothing definite about her, only rumours. What exactly is she doing that warrants such careful consideration of her movements?"

"You're right," Ren said thoughtfully.

"So what do we do now?" Murtaugh asked. "One of her lackeys left us her calling card and it would be an insult if we ignore it. Plus it's from the Brackyn residence. Do you know how many people would kill for one?"

Chaol rubbed a hand down his face. "Do you know of anyone who has met Dianna face to face?"

"The Brackyns are closely affiliated with Madame Clarisse, the brothel madam of a high class escort service in Rifthold," Murtaugh answered reluctantly.

"Wonderful," Ren smirked, "that's going to be easy."

His grandfather smacked him upside the head. "Get your mind out of the gutter," he snapped. "Do you know how much Clarisse charges?" Ren scowled and rubbed his head.

"A brothel?" Chaol sounded surprised.

"Well, never has it been said the bedroom isn't a form of art," Aedion said, eyes gleaming with rare mirth.

Chaol stood abruptly. "I'm going to bed. Good night." He closed himself into the spare bedroom without another word.

Ren stared after him. "Who shoved a stick up his ass?"

"He's always been as broody as hell," Murtaugh grumbled. He knotted the bandage with a sharp tug and Ren grunted, with pain or agreement Aedion didn't know. What Aedion did know however was that the captain was keeping something from them and he be damned if he wasn't going to force it out of him.

...

When Murtaugh finally nodded off hours later, Ren and Aedion still lay awake nursing glasses of amber liquid.

"You really believe she's back?" the young lord asked in a low tone. Though he tried to conceal his discomfort, Aedion knew Ren was still in pain from the way he winced with every motion.

The general stared into his glass as it reflected the dim light from the scones. "Sometimes I almost wish she wouldn't," he said hoarsely. "Every time I think of her facing the King..." he tightened his mouth, clenching his jaw.

Ren watched him quietly, then, "Maeve did not foster her in Doranelle."

Aedion cut his eyes to him. "What do you mean?" he inquired carefully.

The lord's expression didn't change, clear and inhibited despite the brandy. "She had been in Adarlan for a while. That's how the captain knew the queen was alive; they had met. That's how she found that entrance to the castle we entered. " Ren's gaze was hard on him. "You know who she is, yet you conceal her identity from us. Why?"

"You know why," Aedion growled.

"Have we not proved our loyalty enough?" Ren challenged. His eyes shifted, widened, "Or she has done something–"

"She has done nothing," Aedion snapped, but it was the wrong answer.

Ren attempted to rise, but fell back with a gasp. Aedion did not bother to help him as Ren clutched his side and breathed though a spasm of agony. When the pain had subsided, Ren settled back onto the cushions with a wince.

"The queen did what she had to in order to survive," Aedion said carefully, "as did you. Surely you of all people would understand. Do not judge her until you've heard her side of the story. We can't imagine what–"

Ren laughed bitterly. "What she's been through? Aedion you can't mean to say that. I watched my parents sacrifice their own lives to save me and my grandfather. I've been homeless half my life."

Aedion reined in his snarl. "I can't explain her choices to you," he said instead, "but know that Aelin loves her country."

"Then where was she when magic disappeared?" Ren demanded. "Where was she when the King sacked Orynth? Where was she when my _sisters_ burned? Where was she when Terrasen needed her most?"

"What would you have had her do?" Aedion exploded. He toned it down to a harsh whisper as Murtaugh stirred on the opposite couch. "God's above, she was a child. Aelin was eight years old. Would you have wanted to expose herself when half the world wanted her dead?"

He shook his head. "I don't know, Aedion. I don't know. I just hope she didn't need up working for the King like you did."

Aedion's breath caught and he pushed the uneasiness deep down. He knew it would take a lot more than petty reassurances to convince him, but he didn't know _how_.

"Good night, Aedion," Ren said finally. He settled deeper onto the armchair. The lord needed a proper bed with a wound like his.

"Take the bedroom," Aedion said. Ren's head jerked up in surprise. His mouth opened, but it closed as Aedion snapped, "Get in there before I change my mind." Despite himself, his lips quirked up slightly and he added softly, "You need it for today."

The lord Allsbrook nodded and got up slowly. "You are a good man, Aedion, no matter what you think," he said quietly, "and I hope for your sake, the queen is all you made her out to be." Cradling his side gingerly, Ren took a step then looked back at him uncertainly.

"Spit it out," Aedion growled.

"You idolize her, Aedion. You put her on this unreachable pedestal, " Ren said solemnly, "and she's going to break you when you realize she isn't the saint you made her out to be." Wisdom dispensed, Ren hobbled away.

Aedion sat in silence long after the scones burned down to the last flickering embers. He kept his vigil even as the first rays of dawn broke over the Avery River and his companions began to stir. Ren was wrong. Aelin would never. And when he saw her again, he will be by her side as he always should have been. Her protector and friend, to whatever end.

The general's steps were silent and unfaltering when he skirted around Murtaugh's sleeping form on the settee, moving to the front door. The bedroom doors were still firmly closed and Aedion's eyes trailed gradually through the apartment before he noticed the calling card Chaol had placed on the side table the night before. He padded to the card and picked it up.

The scent of lavender wafted from the thick cream stationery. Its edges were scalloped and embossed with a border of gold flowers and curling vines. Aedion's eyes roved over the inscription, "_The dark is my domain, the unknown I do not fear."_

What kind of calling card is this? He flipped the scrap over, and in gilded lettering: _Dianna Bracken_. With some hesitation, Aedion slipped the card into his tunic. It was time to hunt. Perhaps the woman from last night would have some answers.

...

The general didn't look up– a foolish mistake on his part. Fortunately for him, the black cloaked figure crouched on the warehouse roof was not here for him. "Watch their every move," the woman murmured. "I want their movements, as well those of their companions reported to me."

The second figure laughed softly, grey eyes gleaming mischievously. "Don't fret, darling. You'll get wrinkles."

The woman gasped, splaying a hand against her chest. "Scandalous!"

"No more scandalous than the sight you were last night stumbling into the Keep with that blue eyed gentleman," the man said with an impishly grin. He leaned closer. "How long did you lock yourself in your bedroom with him exactly? The servants were taking bets."

The woman's eyes widened and she smacked him in the chest. "You didn't! Nox–"

His eyes danced with glee."You better go to your 'important meeting'. I'm looking forward to hearing about it."

Her eyes narrowed, blue peeking out from under lashes. "If you had any part in the betting, I will hear about it, Nox, and you better hope you are far, far away from me when I do."

Nox settled himself more comfortably on the roof and propped his head on his hands. "I hope for your sake he was a good kisser at least."

The woman glance side-long at him as she searched for a proper handhold to swing herself down. "He was in the bathroom–no–don't look at me like that," she warned when she saw him cock an eyebrow suggestively. "He was sick– probably will be for a while."

Nox smirked. "This is better than a penny dreadful. Are you going to be his voluptuous healer–"

"I don't know what concerns me more," she interrupted. "The fact you've read penny dreadfuls or the fact you are concerned with my love life when you have none of your own."

He rolled over with a sigh. "That's harsh, pet. Maybe I just don't bring them to see you."

"What happened to that other woman? Nesryn–?"

"Let's not talk about her," Nox grumbled.

"Oh, you poor baby," the woman cooed. Searching for a handhold, she said, "I'll see you later tonight for my report."

"What about the hulk of a man that just left?" he asked, jerking his head to indicate Aedion.

The woman bit her lip. "Aedion can take care of himself well enough, but if they start poking into something questionable, I want to know about it."

"You gave them your calling card. They are going to look into _you_," Nox pointed out.

"I'm curious as to how long it will take them to seek me out," the woman murmured, watching as Aedion disappeared into the city below. "Meanwhile, everything will go as we have planned. Did you pass along the message to one of your contacts in Perranth?"

"They informed the Bane discreetly as you wanted. Word should reach Rifthold any day now," he hesitated. "Are you sure about this?"

The woman gave him a half-shrug. "It's not like it's a surprise. It will spread fear and anarchy and we need the chaos to hide our movements. And while they are focused on their western borders..." She gave him a feral grin.

Nox gave her a responding grin. "Don't have too much fun without me," he called softly as the woman swung herself onto ledge.

"No promises," she called back and dropped out of sight.

Going the opposite the castle and down a few roads, the woman soon found herself on the banks of the Avery river. The morning light painted the water a pleasant peach and it was harder than she expected to curb the urge to call a droplet to her hand. The amulet at her neck was a steady, assuring weight.

Farther down the river, a large osprey pounced on the silver glint of a fish, careful not to get itself wet. The woman held out a leather gloved hand and the osprey paused, but still took his time gobbling up his meal before slowly swooping in lazy arcs toward her.

The woman tried not to wince as the osprey landed, his talons digging into her arm with a vengeance. "Don't blame me for being chosen for messenger duty," she muttered. His nails dug in harder. "Alright, alright don't get your feathers ruffled," she grumbled as she untied the brown parchment that perfectly blended into his plumage.

She gave the document a precursory scan, noting the Whitethorn insignia and the coded marks and symbols . She would decode it when she got back but now... She tucked the scroll into her tunic and pulled out another out of her pocket, looping it around the disgruntled bird.

"Tell Rowan I'm glad they agreed and to be ready." It was vague, but her Rowan would understand. Vaughan hopped impatiently. "I miss him," she murmured so softly, the osprey barely caught it.

He stilled on her arm, then pecked her gently as if in acknowledgement. It was the least homicidal she'd seen him. Slowly, carefully, the woman brought a hand to the bird. He watched her with a head cocked as she rubbed his head. "I thank you, Vaughan. I appreciate what you are doing for us." The bird dipped his head and the woman's hand dropped.

The osprey spread his brown-speckled wings and took to the dawn sky. Aelin watched as the bird became a speck in the distance before she turned away, back to the Keep where a certain blue eyed Prince waited.

...

**Things will get a bit clearer in the next chapter. *wink wink* I'm so excited. And I tried to mention Rowan cuz there probably will be less of him in the beginning. *dodges pitchforks* Sorry, sorry, he's my baby too, but that's how its going to go. Keep those reviews coming! Love you guys!**

**-Silverleaf**


	3. A Fear All-encompassing

**The Queen of Shadows excerpt made me cry so this is a mostly Dorian-oriented chapter. Besides working toward Aedion and Aelin's eventual meeting I also want to write a proper healing process for Dorian after his rescue and Rowan's situation in Wendlyn. There will be more details in later chapters but this is just a heads up.**

**Note: This fanfic will not follow the events of Queen of Shadows. Most of the plot is mine, but everything else by the beautiful Sarah. J Maas.**

**...**

The sewers were different in the morning. Though no light could penetrate its murky blackness, it was somehow less threatening, less dense in its malevolence. He kept his sword out, his sense alert for the scrape of claws against stone and the swirl of a dense dark cloak.

That woman– and the ridderak was long gone. Aedion shoved his disappointment aside; it was expected and he hadn't come for her anyway. He stopped in front of that bronze knocker the captain claimed possessed the strange ability to converse with others.

Aedion didn't bother entering the tomb– he doubted Elena would stoop so low as to talk to him anyway. The face of the knocker was set in a perpetual grimace and Aedion's mouth curved at the ridiculousness of the situation. "Hello," he said.

The knocker didn't respond. "I'm sorry if we interrupted your sleep last night," Aedion continued. "You wouldn't happened to have seen my cousin pass by recently, have you?" He paused, but the knocker didn't move. Feeling rather foolish, Aedion sheathed his sword. Chaol _had_ said the knocker never spoken to him. What made him think he would be any better than the captain anyway? Perhaps the bronze knocker only conversed with Brannon's descendants. Sighing, Aedion turned to go.

"How rude," it sniffed.

Aedion whipped around, relief loosening his harsh features. "So you do talk!" he exclaimed.

The knocker couldn't look anymore disgusted. "Clearly," it drawled, "but you knew that already. Hurry and get your question over with. I don't particularly want to waste my time exchanging pleasantries with some soldier."

"I'm a warrior."

"That's not a question."

"I know that," Aedion said trying not to get irritated lest he scare the knocker back into silence.

"I would certainly hope so." Its mouth cracked with a yawn.

"My cousin, is she back?"

The knocker ignored his question. "One thing is certain: Your cousin clearly has better manners. At least she asked me for my name. But of course that is a minuscule difference. You growl and huff and swagger about your glory just as much as she does."

Aedion was mildly fascinated. "She does?"

It snorted again. "And of course that's what you fixate on." It clucked. "Ask your question."

"I already did," Aedion said with exasperation.

The knocker opened its eyes and smirked coyly. "Is it? I believed you were going to inquire about some black cloaked beauty."

His breath caught on an inhale and Aedion almost choked. "How–"

"Ask your question," the knocker said.

"Who is she?" Aedion breathed. "Why is that woman so familiar to me?"

"You know her," it said as if it was more than obvious.

That's it. If another non-answer came out of that smartass bronze mouth, Aedion was going to tear that door down. "How?" he pleaded plainly.

"That's for you to find out. It is not my place to tell you."

The knocker didn't flinch as Aedion punched the door in his frustration. The wood splintered under the force of his fist but held. "Do more than that you can be sure Gavin will go after you for disturbing his queen's rest."

Aedion bared his teeth in a fearsome snarl. "Gavin has been buried for half a millennium."

The knocker gave him an inscrutable look. "So they say."

"You are useless," the general breathed, fury bathing his features.

"I'm a door knocker," it said drily.

Aedion spun away, his fists clenched. "It was a mistake to come here."

"It was," the knocker agreed. He scowled.

"You won't find that woman, your queen here. She is where she is needed and that is among the living. Where her allies are– where her warriors are– that is where she will stay."

"Are you talking about my cousin or that woman?"

The knocker smiled shrewdly and Aedion's fingers twitched, itching to punch that damn expression off its smug face. He had to sense to curb the urge, however, knowing it would hurt his hand more than the bronze knocker. "You already know how find that woman you so desperately seek," its eyes fixated on his tunic. "The answer is on you."

His hands flew to the calling card, hidden beneath his shirt. "If I seek out Mistress Brackyn, will I find my cousin as well?"

Its eyes closed with a sigh of irritation. "Perhaps."

Knowing it was the best answer he was going to get, Aedion changed tactics. "Are they in the city?"

"Don't waste my time by asking me questions you already know the answers to," the knocker snapped.

"Waste _your_ time? You are attached to a door–"

"You are not going to find that woman if she doesn't want to be found," it spoke over him, "and judging by how frustrated you look I'm guessing you haven't had much luck. Your cousin... She doesn't want to see you–"

Aedion' stomach dropped, and he swayed as if he had taken a blow. The world tilted under his feet and for a moment there was nothing but the rushing of blood in his ears, the pounding thrum of his heart. Aedion braced his arm on the doorjamb and whispered, "What did you say?" He had to have been mistaken. Because the alternative–

"She doesn't want to see you," the knocker said again, flatly. "Aelin will find you when she's ready. Your cousin lived in the heart of Adarlan's empire for years. What she has learnt, what she has heard–"

The general's face was wiped of expression as he stared at the knocker without truly seeing. What she has heard–

_ The king smiled, a cruel thing to behold. "You have done my empire a great service this day my dear Northern Wolf." _

_ Aedion bared his teeth into a feral smile and bowed his head even as his instincts screamed at him to slaughter them all and splatter their innards onto the pretty walls. _

_ Aelin would have loved the dresses, the carefully coiled hair and all the glittery adornments. It would be his reminder–all this debauchery– the product of the toil of his people. Aedion would never forget what he was made into– what the king had forced him to do. He would never forget himself– who he was: warrior, cousin, protector–in his enemy's house. _

_ "It was my duty and honour, Your Majesty," he said. "I am yours to command."_

_ The king's grin widened."What can we bless you with, Aedion Ashryver. You have the love of your people, the unwavering loyalty those under your command..."_

_ That familiar rage pulsed again and Aedion held it close to his heart, riding that reckless wave to provide him the courage for his next words. "I want the Sword of Orynth," the eighteen year old Northern Wolf declared to the dead silence of the court. _

_ To dare demand a gift from the king and interrupt him so... The court waited for the execution order with bated breath, but their sovereign merely laughed. Slowly, as if that was a sign of approval, the court tittered along with him._

_ The king waved a gracious hand. "Then you shall have it."_

_ He didn't allow his shoulders to sag in relief, but let his smile take over his face, dark glee replacing his bland expression. "Thank you for your generosity, my Liege."_

_ Thank you. _Northern Wolf. Adarlan's Whore. Aelin shouldn't want to see him. Of course not. _Adarlan's Whore_. Aedion was a fool to have thought otherwise. He backed away from the knocker, his features set in unguarded grief.

It was surprisingly sad as it watched him. "I'm sorry," it said sorrowfully. And that was when he snapped. Aedion was filled with her– her screams, her cries, her pleading.

"No," he whispered. He covered his ears and backed away. The walls pulsed around him and he spun around, almost stumbling over his feet as he ran to the exit, to the light.

Aedion had the audacity to called himself a warrior– a protector– but when his very reason for being did not need him... what purpose did he have anymore? He had failed her: working for their enemy's house, spilling the blood of their people. Aelin must hate him for what he was, what he had done. His people's resentment would pale in comparison to seeing the loathing and disgust in her face.

But it didn't matter if she hated him, didn't matter if she cursed the very dirt he walked on, he would serve her any way he could even if she killed him for daring to show his face to her. He let out a long, bitter laugh so cold he scarcely recognized himself in it. How ironic, to be slaughtered by the very one you were sworn to protect.

Aedion barely remembered to shove his hood on before he grappled with the gate, fence, the forest beyond and disappeared into the city.

...

Aelin nudged her bedroom door with her hip, a breakfast tray neatly balanced on her arm. The door swung open to reveal Dorian struggling to his feet. She set the tray on the vanity and hurried toward the bed, easily propping him up as he swayed haphazardly. "You shouldn't be out of bed," she said in a clipped tone.

"You left," Dorian rasped. "I–I got worried."

She softened, raking a concerned gaze down his slouched, shaking form. Meeting his darting, fearful eyes, she gave him a gentle smile. "I was out taking care of a few things. Here." Aelin sat him down on the bed before lifting his legs to the mattress. "Don't try to go out again. You are very weak right now."

Dorian settled back on the pillows. "But your room–"

"I have empty cells in the dungeon downstairs if this room is not to your tastes," Aelin offered. "Maybe you can keep the rats company."

He flinched and Aelin winced, inwardly cursing herself for her callousness. "I'm sorry, that joke was in bad taste."

He shook his head and snuggled into the covers. "No– it's just– you've already done so much. I shouldn't be here. I'll just stir up more trouble. You should be lying low right now, not catering to me. My father is going to be after you for not killing the Wendlyn royals."

Aelin gave a half-shrug. "He can't track someone that's already technically dead."

Dorian struggled to sit on the bed, grimacing. Aelin's hands flitted helplessly, uncertain as to where to touch him to avoid hurting him further. Finally, she slipped her arms around his waist to help him recline onto the pillows behind him. "What do you mean?" Dorian demanded weakly.

Withdrawing, she sat herself stiffly beside him on the bed. His hands were shot through with tiny tremors and Aelin watched as Dorian fisted them into the silk sheets to hide them.

She chewed on her lip before saying, "Celaena Sardothien was executed last week in Varese for attempted assassination of the Wendlyn royal family during their Solstice Ball. Wendlyn is using it as an excuse to declare war."

"But you're not dead," he pointed out.

"It was easily enough to fake the hanging with another dead girl," Aelin explained quietly. "And since Celaena was in their dungeons for weeks before the execution, nobody questioned why that assassin didn't look much like a woman if you know what I mean."

"That was smart," Dorian said grudgingly. "But to kill the girl..."

"Nobody killed the girl," Aelin said vehemently. "They took the body of a similar girl from one the their sick houses."

"Oh," he said, "then the war–"

"One of my emissaries–" she smiled at the word Rowan was reduced to. He was probably gnashing his teeth somewhere in Varese, brooding. I am a _warrior_, she could almost hear his voice grumbling in her head emphatically. "–helped me negotiated for Wendlyn's aid in the impending war."

He just stared at her flatly. "They didn't come ten years ago."

Her smiled faltered and Aelin resisted the urge to shudder at the cool, irrevocable misery in his face. Dorian looked as if he wouldn't care if the King of Adarlan himself strode in the room.

She had been like that... before Mistward, before Rowan, before the Valg. Aelin reached out to take one of his hands still white-knuckled, wrinkling her sheets. Dorian stiffened, fear flashing across his features– not fear for himself, but fear for her, what he could do to her.

Aelin looked straight into those familiar sapphire eyes, usually bright and gleaming, now dulled with defeat, pain and barely concealed grief. What had happened in the weeks she was away to dim such a brilliant, golden soul?

"The Ashryvers will help as they swore they would. They had no reason to give assistance ten years ago when they believed the Galathynius line to have died off– when they had believed I had been killed–but it will be different this time, Dorian. I will help you regain your kingdom. I can free the others that have been enslaved–"

"Why?" Dorian hissed. "Why after the monster I've become–"

That was what this was about? Aelin threw her head back and laughed, the sound pealing out of her like a bell. "You? The monster? Impossible." She swung a hand, cutting through the air as he protested. "You were a victim of your father's schemes, Dorian. I know what it is like to be a monster. I _am_ the monster," she raked a derisive gaze down his body, "and if you think being trapped in a collar, controlled by something that should not exist in this world is equivalent to what I have done fully conscious in my own body, I think your morals have twisted in an irreparable way."

Dorian shook her head. "You weren't there. I should have saved her– I–"

"I don't know what really happened that day in the glass castle," Aelin said softly, "but it was not your fault." His eyes grew wet and he shook his head soundlessly. Taking his other hand, she said it firmly, almost shaking him as she said, "It was not your fault– all the things that happened before and after that point and you know why?"

Dorian eyes were locked on her, as if she was the only thing that was keeping him afloat in the roiling seas of his consciousness. "You know why?" she repeated. "Because you were stuck in a husk of yourself for months. One of the Valg possessed your body and you were able to stay sane. You fought it, your magic fought every minute, every second of your body's capture. Your magic resisted it. Why do you think you are so sick right now? Your magic– you fought so hard you ended up on the edge of the burnout. What happens when your magic goes past the point of return," Aelin said to Dorian's unspoken question.

"What happened in the castle–" Dorian broke off with a cough, sweat beading on his brow.

"Reserve your strength," she said gently. "Everything will be clearer soon. You are safe here."

"Where," Dorian whispered after his coughing fit subsided.

Aelin smoothed his hair back with a cool, calloused hand, a sharp contrast to his burning forehead. He closed his eyes, leaning into her hand with a sigh. "The Assassin's Keep."

Too drained to move or speak, Dorian merely raised an eyebrow. "I'm queen of assassins now," Aelin said. "They won't ask questions if they know what's good for them. Oh, I almost forgot." She headed back to the vanity to take the tray. "Your breakfast."

Dorian stared at the heaping plate of food, then gazed back at her helplessly. "I can't finish that," he rasped.

She gave him a knowing smile. "You _will_ finish and you will learn to eat even more when we start to train."

"Train?"

Aelin sighed. "I have a lot to catch you up on and, well, I'm sure you have a lot to tell me of what went on after I left. Things certainly got... interesting." She gave him an unreadable look.

Dorian wrapped his arms around himself, as if it were the only thing keeping him from falling apart, his expression a bleak wasteland. "That's one way to put it."

They went quiet, tacitly understanding each other's need to collect their respective thoughts. The silence was breached only by the quiet clinking of Dorian's utensils as he ate haltingly. Aelin kept her eyes on the thick scar on her left hand– a constant reminder of her promise to Nehemia and her eternal bond with Rowan.

She rubbed it absently, longing for the calming scent of pine and snow that always blanketed her warrior. It ached sometimes when the need for him was particularly strong, when the yearning honed to a point where she almost believed her heart would rend in two from his absence. But it was useless. Rowan was needed in Wendlyn and if he was here he would most likely wallop her for focusing on such causeless thoughts. She should be planning for her return to Terrasen, the war, anything else but him.

And Aedion. Aelin wasn't sure what to do with him, wasn't sure what he would to her if he saw exactly what she had become. But inciting a war, winning it, becoming queen, won't erase the failure she had been, the failure she still was.

Scooting back against the backboard, Aelin drew her knees to her chest. It was better for him. Better for Aedion, Chaol and the rebels to stay far, far away from her. If they were smart, they would keep from seeking her out for a long while. She had eyes and ears everywhere in Rifthold. She would be able to protect them if the need arises.

"So..." Dorian said, breaking the silence. Aelin lifted her head. A grim smile played around his mouth. "Aelin Galathynius, hmm?"

She hated the glassy brokenness in his expression. It reminded her too much of what they had lost, what he had suffered. How had it come to this? "Yeah," she said, her voice gravelly. Aelin cleared it, then forced a thin smile. "Yeah," she said again, softer.

Dorian watched her with preternatural stillness. The Valg prince had left his mark on him that was certain. Aelin even didn't want to think about the kinds of things he had seen, the things the monsters had made him do.

She resisted the urge to fidget as his eyes roved over her face and lifted her chin staring right back. He frowned. "You're different," he said.

So he's finally noticed. "My hair," Aelin said, reach up with a hand to tugged at a blonde strand. "One of the Valg princes' cut it. But let's not talk about such nasty topics at breakfast."

He was still frowning. "Your face is bruised." Dorian seemed about to reach forward to touch it, but thought better of it, retracting his hand. Aelin knew exactly how it looked: a smattering of yellow and green along her jaw and cheek. It had been weeks since her altercation with her former master, but still the bruise remained.

"Courtesy of Arobynn Hamel," she said and to his wide eyes continued, "He wasn't about to cede his title over to me without a fight."

"Did you kill him?"

"He's rotting in the morgue right now," Aelin said with a shrug, "so I hope so."

Dorian cracked a smile, and Aelin's heart danced at that small victory, but he continued to gaze at her. "You are different," he said again. "And it's not your hair, or your face which is radiant as usual," she smirked at that, but Dorian continued. "Whatever happened in Wendlyn... it ... changed you. You," he groped for a word, "are better. You shine brighter. Celaena was an ember, but you are a flame."

Aelin smiled, suddenly shy. "I didn't think the servants would have dared to drug you, but now I'm rethinking that possibility."

"I am perfectly alert," Dorian said indignantly, even as his mouth cracked open with a yawn. He immediately winced, hands going to his face.

"I know you meant what you said," she nodded toward his face, "and that will hurt for quite a while. I ordered the servants to make a painkilling tonic for you." Aelin lifted the tray away from him and placed it on the bedside table. She pulled the covers over him as he eased down to the mattress laboriously.

"Thank you," he said. "I don't know if I'll ever be able to repay what you have done for me–what you saved me from."

"You are my friend, Dorian. There is no repayment except for you to rest and heal." Aelin took the tray and turned to leave. A weak, feverish hand caught her arm and she glanced back.

"Don't," he got out. "Don't leave. They will come for me."

Aelin didn't need it to make sense. She had lost count of how many times have these kind of nightmares plagued her. His hand slid from her arm to clasp her hand as his sapphire eyes pleaded at her.

Her voice was gentle as she said, "I won't leave you, I promise." Placing the tray down again, she lay down stiffly on top of the covers, careful not to jostle his tender, burnt-out body. His eyes closed with an breathy exhale, tensed muscles relaxing bit by bit until he yielded fully to his weariness.

"You keep your promises," he mumbled. "You came back for me."

"They won't dare come near you with me here," she murmured. Clasping their hands to his chest, Dorian curled his body into her warmth.

"Scary fire-breathing bitch-queen," he mumbled.

Aelin chuckled softly, brushing his hair back from where it dangled over his eyes. "You are safe here–with me. Even when you forget everything else, know that." Dorian murmured into the covers. She watched the perpetual frown around his mouth ease, but there were shadows under his eyes. Shadows that spoke of too many sleepless nights and terrible ordeals she could only imagine.

Soon Dorian's easy breathing led her into sleep and her dreams were not of a green-eyed warrior across the ocean, but of an eight year old girl and her doting protector playing in the fresh fallen mountain snow.

...

It was hours later before Dorian awoke, and by that time, the afternoon sun was streaming through the opened curtains. His slumber had been blissfully dreamless. Lavender scented blonde hair tickled his nose and he blew it away with a huff. Mindful of his sore body, he turned his head toward the warm weight that lay to his left.

The princess was still asleep, motionless and innocent, the sunlight setting her gold-spun hair alight. If it not for the slight rise and fall of her chest, Dorian would have thought her to be dead. His chest tightened and he gripped her hand harder. Aelin shifted, and Dorian froze as she murmured something too soft for him to catch. She settled again.

Her hands were not the soft golden doves he was used to, but Dorian found himself taking comfort in the strength and steel running through the veins and hollows. They were the hands of a seasoned warrior, the scars and calluses marking them a testament to her endurance and training.

Nehemia had once told him Celaena and Chaol would never understand their burdens, and she was not wrong, but Celaena was dead and the woman that had taken her place... He marvelled at the trust she had unwittingly put in him. Lying so close even though she knew what kind of danger he possessed. His eyes burned again, tears pressing against his lids and Dorian cursed himself for becoming such a sap. The Valg she mentioned was gone, but couldn't she see the darkness in him? The taint that monster had left on his soul?

But of course she understood. _I _am_ the monster_, she had said. All those years enslaved to different masters, what she must have sacrificed... They were not different, Dorian decided. Not different at all.

"Why are you staring at me?" she mumbled, one lazy blue-gold eye peering at him. "I didn't sleep at all yesterday night. Don't judge." With that, she closed it again. Dorian felt a laugh rumble through his chest, an almost foreign sensation after so long. The thought sobered him, but glimpsing a responding smile on Aelin's lips, brought it up again.

"I was thinking about the future," Dorian said.

Mildly interested, she languidly blinked open both eyes, propping her head on her hand. "What of the future?"

He smiled slightly. There will be time to think on what had happened, what he had lost, but now... "Only that it's going to be bright."

...

**I really hoped I did Dorian's struggle justice. Don't worry, this is not the end of it, though this chapter ended on a hopeful note. People don't heal like that. And for anyone who's going through tough times let me give you a hug. My ask box is always open.**

**Thank you for all your lovely reviews.**

**-Silverleaf**


	4. Of Cowardice

**Rowan baby... That's all there I have to say.**

**...**

Aedion didn't come back till late, the drawstring pouch at his side swinging heavily. He shook out his aching fist, knuckled bruised and the skin above them split, before whistling their standard two-note signal.

One of them, either Ren or Chaol whistled back from within and Aedion entered, not going through the trouble of checking the perimeters before strolling in. He almost hoped something would happen and cursed himself for it. They didn't need this kind of trouble, not now.

But Aedion was still coiled with reckless energy, riding the careless high from tonight's victories and he knew enough to recognize the signs of impending bloodshed if he didn't get himself under control. Ren and Chaol would be able to scent the violence on him. And if they did...

They ambushed him immediately. "Where were you?" Murtaugh snapped. "You were supposed to be back hours ago." Aedion didn't reply and stalked across the floor to the liquor cabinet. The way things were going, he would consume the contents of the whole jug before the night was over.

Sol rolled his eyes. "Did you honestly believe he was going to be reliable?"

Aedion flung the cabinet doors open with unnecessary force and they rebounded, nearly smashing him in the face. Only his sharp reflexes saved him from another black eye. He swore under his breath as he grabbed a glass. _She doesn't want to see you._ _She doesn't want to, she doesn't want to, she doesn't want to_. Every one of his movements echoed it, the words haunting him even as he focused on anything else.

"There's blood on you," Chaol said quietly. The captain's tone was not condemning, just a flat observation that reminded Aedion how little he cared. He was only here for his prince after all. Aedion forgot that sometimes– that the captain had his own allegiances and motives. But he hadn't forgotten Chaol's bumbling defenses last night. He was made of such secrets. What had Aelin ever seen in _him_?

Aedion grimaced at the thought. He didn't want to know. Ever.

Ren radiated disapproval from the couch where he sat gingerly with Nesryn. "We were waiting for you so we could hear Nesryn's report. And you leave at dawn and don't come back till sundown, with blood splattered all over you–"

_She doesn't want, she doesn't want, she doesn't want_– Enough. Aedion slammed his glass down and flung the pouch on the dining table. The tie loosened and gold clinked, pouring out of the bag.

Ren shut up. The general's voice was dangerously soft. "Someone has to support our way of living."

Murtaugh started, eyes narrowed. "You were at the Vaults? It's too risky, boy–"

_Enough, enough, enough_. "You're not doing anything to bring money in, old man, and we need it desperately," Aedion hissed. "My accounts were seized, the captain is a traitor and oath-breaker, and you and Ren have no money to speak of. The lordlings–" He tossed Sol and Ravi, the latter whom was lounging in the corner, face pale, a scathing glare, "–are too cowardly to do anything but trash talk our operations, forget about funding our movements. Cage fighting is the easiest alternative."

Nesryn snorted, and spoke up in disgust. "Easy? You could have just as easily gotten a dagger in your ribs for your trouble, or jumped in an empty alley and the Bane would be worse off for it."

It's not like you have a better solution to our sudden poverty, Aedion wanted to say, but seeing the dark flash in her cunning eyes, stayed silent.

She rose and stalked to him. "Do you even care what will happen if you were gone? The Bane will completely fall apart. You aren't usually so careless, general and we need to keep our wits about us even more than usual now she has shown herself. Everything has changed."

Nobody questioned identity of the she, Nesryn mentioned.

She continued. "The Bane is doing quite well, thank you for asking. The supply lines are running well– a friend of mine has his contacts running errands for us in Perranth– and our ranks are steadily swelling. We are just waiting for the queen herself to show up, if she even bothers to come out of her hole," she muttered the last bit icily.

"We are always waiting now," Ren put in, scowling. "Waiting for the queen to send word, waiting for the King to make a move after the catastrophe that was Wendlyn. We are sitting ducks here in Rifthold. We should haul ass to the north and hunker down, training the troops and–"

"About Wendlyn," Nesryn began awkwardly. Aedion's eyes narrowed as she avoided glancing directly at the captain. What is it about the captain that attracts trouble like flies to a carcass?

Chaol's crossed his arms, face tightening as he braced for bad news. Sol and Ravi shifted closer.

"Spit it out," Aedion growled.

She squirmed under their expectant stares as the tension in the room rose. "My friend has contacts in Wendlyn. There will be an uproar when the news hits Adarlan."

"What did you find out?" Murtaugh inquired coolly, as he angled himself between the general and the woman. Smart man. Aedion hissed softly, still itching to shake the information out of her. But the old man was just as tense, his stare unwavering as they waited for her answer.

Nesryn inhaled to steel herself and gazed straight at Aedion. "Wendlyn." Her throat bobbed, once. "Wendlyn has declared war." It took a moment to register, before Aedion was gaping like the fool he was.

"They declared war?" he repeated, to confirm. Nesryn jerked her head in a nod.

"But why?" Ravi asked plainly. The same question was mirrored in everyone's face. "Why now? They already have the embargo and both countries have fought for so long without going into an all out war. What has changed?"

Nesryn grimaced, avoiding Chaol's gaze. "Sardothien was caught in attempted assassination of the Wendlyn royal family. She was executed last week in Varese."

Aedion's heart stopped. "What?" he breathed.

Ren started to stand, then winced, falling back and clutching his ribs. "You said she wasn't going to kill them," he accused, snapping at Chaol.

Chaol blinked slowly at Nesryn. "But that's impossible."

She gave the captain a sympathetic look. "I'm sorry. It was a hanging. There were witnesses."

He shook his head again and glanced at Aedion. The absolute certainty in his eyes, calmed some of Aedion's initial panic. It wasn't possible. "The assassination was ordered for the night of their Solstice celebration." Chaol glanced at Nesryn to confirm.

She nodded cautiously. "Yes," she admitted. "That's what Nox said."

The captain looked around the room. "But that was months ago. So if she struck that night and was caught, why did Wendlyn wait so long to announce it? There would have witnesses. The officials couldn't have kept such news under wraps."

"I suppose it attests to how skilled Sardothien was then," Ravi drawled, tactlessly. Nesryn glared at him.

"No," Sol said thoughtfully. "More so like good marketing. Wendlyn was going to declare war anyway since Adarlan attacked their northern coast; it was a direct assault on their territory. However, some civilians are bound to protest against war because it would be ruinous for their investments or for fear of forced conscription." His eyes glinted. "But if there is one thing the people love, it is their beloved Crown Prince and the royal family, and for Adarlan to strike so close to home..."

Ren took up the theory, "They waited for the best opportunity to announce the execution. Sardothien's death was propaganda, to drum up fear and garner support for the imminent war."

But Aelin's battle in the Cambrian Mountain was weeks after the Solstice. The one whom was executed couldn't have been her. He glanced at the captain and Chaol nodded. The brick weight on his chest eased and he let out a breath. Didn't the door knocker confirm Aelin was in Rifthold also? Gods, he was a fool.

"Well at least we've gained another ally in them," Ravi commented. Nesryn brightened immediately.

"Yes, that was the last thing actually. The queen negotiated an alliance with Wendlyn. They have agreed to fight under her banner."

For the second time that night, they were stunned into silence. "The queen works... quickly," Sol said at last.

"Understatement," Murtaugh muttered. "First the Cambrian, then Wendlyn..." He whistled and turned to him. "Have you contacted Mistress Brackyn yet?"

Aedion fought the urge to scowl. "No," he said flatly.

Ren frowned at him. "Through her, we can help the queen, as well as gain many more powerful allies.

"I will not waver in this," Aedion said. _She doesn't want, she doesn't want, she doesn't want– _"I said this yesterday night, I will say it again. We cannot seek her out until we know more about her motives and gain leverage. An alliance where one group can control the other is no alliance at all. This will end up biting us all in the ass if we rush into it." He didn't voice his other concern. If Mistress Brackyn was as closely affiliated with Aelin as the rumors claimed, he would see Aelin sooner or later, and Aedion did not know if he'd survive the encounter. Coward, a dark part of him hissed.

For now, Aedion would abide by his queen's wishes. She will see him when she wants to.

Bitterness tainted his resolve for the slightest moment. It wasn't fair. But of course it wasn't. _Your cousin lived in the heart of Adarlan's empire for years. What she has learnt, what she has heard–_

Aedion clenched his fist. He will wait. He had no other choice.

"We will do what we can from Rifthold." Aedion turned to Nesryn. "Ready the Bane and send word about Wendlyn to our contacts. I'm inclined to believe the queen shall strike soon." His face was cold and stony. "And this time, the streets of Adarlan will run red."

...

The wind whipped around the two figures on the roof, swallowing the sounds of their conversation. She squinted against the gale, hoping she had misheard.

"He went to the Vaults," Aelin said blandly, like the calm before the storm. "I don't suppose you stopped him?"

Nox winced. "Umm, no, not really."

Her jaw worked, a muscle feathering. "Of all the foolish–" Aelin inhaled and closed her eyes. "He must have a death-wish," she moaned. "The Vaults of all places?"

"He won quite a bit in the pits," the thief admitted. He backpedaled when he saw her glare. "Not that I'm supporting it, of course, but your cousin is... frightening."

Aelin forced a smirk. "He wouldn't be related to me if he wasn't." But her smile faded quickly. "The pit supervisors must had a fit," she muttered. "How much did they lose to him?"

He hesitated, then named the sum. She rubbed her forehead. "Damn." Mixed pride and fear twisted in her gut, but she squashed it down. It was a familiar feeling of late. Aedion.

"He just kept on bashing the contestants like they were straw dummies, and you can see he felt nothing too for his blank expression. Be sure to tell me when he's coming around to the Keep. I'm just going to stay far, _far_ away."

"Which makes you homeless."

"Considering you own a couple dozen inns in Rifthold, I think I will be able to easily avoid that little complication." Nox tilted his head challengingly, as she stiffened. "You're not about to deny how wealthy you've suddenly become, are you?"

"I'm not in the habit of flaunting my... belongings. I am well aware of what it took for me to get here and I'm not proud of it. Being Arobynn's heir has cost more than you will ever know."

"Of that I have no doubt," Nox said quietly. "What are you going to tell them?"

Aelin lifted a shoulder in a half-shrug. "Are they running low on funds?"

Nox gave her a look as if to say her change of subject wasn't quite as smooth as she believed. "I suspect that's the reason the general went to the Vaults. That and the fact he was angry and wanted something to pummel."

Her brow pinched. "Angry, you say?"

"You need to control your cousin, Sardothien. He's a wild card and no one will take kindly to him considering what he has been."

Aelin let a low growl slip out. "Aedion has always been... intense, but he's fiercely loyal."

Nox chewed on his lip, avoiding her gaze. "They will say things, Celaena, and from what I've heard, they've been saying this since you were born. If you bring him into the fold after what he has done it'll look too much like–"

"They will shut their mouths if they know what's good for them," Aelin interrupted, showing her teeth. "Lest they desire to have their tongues ripped out." She made to stand, then recalled she was on a roof and crouched back down, agitated.

"This was a bad idea from the beginning," she muttered. "They should be at the Keep where I can keep an eye on them." She cursed herself for her cowardice. But if Aedion attacked her at the Keep...

"I'll contact you if anything new arises," Nox said gently, guessing where her thoughts have taken her. "We follow this plan to the end."

Aelin nodded. "To the end."

...

As the Fae male, or Rowan, as his warrior friends called him, went over the campaign strategies against Adarlan for the hundredth time, Galan slumped against the back of his chair. For a moment Galan was just so inclined to inform him humans weren't as forgetful as the oh so _mighty_ Rowan believed they were. It was an insult, that's what it was. He was a blockade runner against Adarlan for god's sake, and a godsdamned good one at that.

Galan could imagine his sister cringing at his language. _The Gods would smite you for thinking like that_, she would snap. As if sensing his thoughts, she looked up from her notes and glowered with disapproval. She tapped her glass pen. _Pay attention_. Galan lifted his brows and looked away.

He'd contributed all he could– which wasn't much at all as _Rowan _disapproved of almost every action he proposed. Gods, he hated the arrogance of the Fae. How Aelin put up with him, Galan may never know.

But perhaps she didn't. Most of the court, had heard about her showdown with Maeve in Doranelle, recounted with delighted relish by Rowan. It was of endless amusement to his father who loathed Maeve for banning him from going to his sister's aid in Terrasen ten years ago.

King Glaston had never met his niece; Galan had never met his cousin, but to have a member of the Fae in her court... who was she– what kind of person could have garnered such loyalty from these immortal beings who claimed to have nothing to do with their human counterparts?

Galan had to admit he was intrigued – probably more intrigued than he should be about this woman. To have lived amidst her enemy all those years, to have survived a death camp and slaved along with her people and forced to work for those she hated most. That was strength. That was the kind of bravery legends depicted and bards sang about in boisterous taverns.

Even Maeve was scared of her. That definitely increased his assessment of her.

Rowan abruptly ceased in his droning and cocked his head. The others of the council blinked.

"Is there something wrong, Prince?" one of the secretaries asked hesitantly. A bird swooped through the window before the Fae prince could reply, and the one of the viceroys squawked, jumping out of his seat.

"Someone get that blasted beast out of here!"

Galan rolled his eyes.

There was a blinding flash of light, and he blinked away the black spots in his vision. A towering male stood in the space the bird had once occupied– and not entirely happy about it. He was corded with muscle, his dark eyes glaring out from under a tangle of inky hair. Wonderful, another one of Rowan's Fae friends.

"Have your social gatherings elsewhere, Rowan," Galan drawled. "Some of us actually do some work."

Rowan barely spared him a glance. The male's eyes flickered to him and gave him a onceover. Once deeming him not a threat, his gaze slid away again, bored. The Fae males clasped forearms and an unspoken conversation seemed to pass between them. Rowan's face didn't change–still emotionless as a block of wood and Galan had yet to see it change– but the tenseness to his features smoothed over, shoulders unlocking as he finally seemed to breath properly.

Galan propped his head in his hands and smiled slowly. How interesting.

The shapeshifter passed Rowan a neatly rolled scroll and he received it, his large hands wrapping the document almost reverently, as if it were the most precious thing he'd ever been given.

Galan had never heard of a human queen with a Fae protector. The legends always bespoke of great Fae queens with their courageous human consorts. Aelin wasn't exactly a typical queen, he supposed. But for the life of him, Galan couldn't understand why Rowan would tie himself to her like that.

Above all, he hadn't understood why she hadn't killed him. If he had been in her position Galan didn't know if he would have that restraint. Aelin _must_ blame Wendlyn for not coming to Terrasen's aid, for leaving all those people to that kind of end. It made him sick to think about all the lives that were lost, their suffering.

He would ask her about it, he concluded, when they met. Because they will meet. The Ashryvers will not fail them again.


	5. Healing

**So Queen of Shadows is out! And to celebrate this chapter was written! Whooo... that took a long time sorry guys**

...

Dorian warmed his perpetually cold hands on the mug of hot cocoa Aelin brought him and heaved his fourteenth sigh of the day. He was still freezing, and miserable and sore despite Aelin depositing him in an armchair next to the fireplace.

He sighed again. This time Aelin opted to arch an eyebrow instead of glancing up from her desk. "Perhaps you are in want of another blanket," she said drily, "and a cup of tea and some biscuits on a tray." The fire in the hearth surged, throwing out sparks, immediately extinguished as they touched the carpet.

"I don't need anything," Dorian said adamantly. Aelin frowned down at her documents and scribbled something out with a soft growl of frustration. He watched the glass pen in her hand twirl, mesmerized. How does she do that? Aelin's movements stilled and she tapped the end of the pen on a stack of paper.

Dorian's gaze rose and found the assassin staring at him, brows furrowed. "I mean it, Dorian. If you need anything at all…"

He dropped his gaze. If Aelin knew even a shred of his thoughts she would probably lock him up. It would be a relief actually. It was always too loud those urges, too tempting. The silence spurred the darkness on, wrapping shadowy tendrils around his throat… like the collar, strangling, vise-like, unforgiving–

"Dorian," Aelin said sharply. He jerked slightly, his breath coming in short gulps as his vision narrowed. She rounded the desk, but he shielded away gripping the arms of the chair as if the floor may fall away from him at any moment.

Her voice came from very far away. "Look at me Dorian. _Look_ at me." The command was evident, and against his better judgement, Dorian looked. His eyes darted away almost immediately and Dorian squeezed them shut. "Breathe, Dorian." He felt warm fingers on his chin tilting his face up. Her breath tickled his firmly closed lashes. "Why won't you look at me?" she whispered.

"I do," Dorian lied, his eyes flickering open for a brief instant before shutting them and leaning in. He forced an impish grin. "I'm waiting for you to kiss me."

"You," Aelin proclaimed, "are not a very good liar." But she withdrew.

Dorian would have laughed if his body didn't hurt so much. She opened her mouth again, but a knock at the door made her pause. He gave a soundless breath of relief.

Aelin situated herself at her desk before calling out. "Come in."

A woman strode in, heels soundless on the carpet.

Dorian didn't know where to look first. Her luscious dark hair reflected the light from the scones, and the elegant taper of her waist and hips moved like water. She held herself with practiced elegance, her cunning green eyes lined with kohl. The delicate seafoam lace of her dress flowed behind her.

Aelin cleared her throat pointedly, instantly snapping Dorian's attention away from her. "Lysandra," she said.

The woman placed a tray down and huffed. "I'm not your servant, Aelin. You have plenty of men to run errands for you."

"I do," Aelin agreed with a wicked smile. "But I rather you do it."

Lysandra muttered something decidedly unladylike and let the files clasped under her arm fall to the desk. "Get Hardling or Mullin to play maid next time."

"But I like seeing your beautiful face around," Aelin cooed, as she sealed two letters with the crossed dagger sigil of the Assassin's Keep. She dripped gold wax onto the envelope and carefully pressed her signet ring onto the hot wax.

Lysandra cast her gaze skyward, but a small smile played around the edges of her sensual mouth. The sleeves of her gown rode up as she extended her hand to take the letters.

Dorian sucked in a quiet breath, eyes widening. Black marks– tattoos– scored the curve of Lysandra's wrists. A wicked snake-like brand that stood out against her pale skin, barely concealed by a gold cuff bracelet. A courtesan.

Aelin pressed her lips as she heard him inhale. Evidently, Lysandra heard his sound of surprise as well, for she glanced over at him, livid green eyes carving into him. The courtesan glanced down at her wrists, lips tightening, and pushed her sleeves up. "Perhaps you would like a closer look, princeling?" So cold her eyes. Irises fringed with ice, she flicked her gaze to Aelin. "This is he?"

"Lysandra, Dorian Havilliard. Dorian, this is Lysandra." Aelin shot her a warning look.

Lysandra swept her eyes up, down. Unimpressed, she tucked the letters in her cloak and removed a pair of kid gloves tucked in her pocket. "I was expecting more."

"Lysandra," Aelin cautioned. "Enough."

"More, what?" Dorian rasped.

Lysandra did not smile. "Considering what Aelin risked in getting you out was expecting more than a bruise-eyed boy. Excuse me if I do not understand your worth, prince." Dorian lifted a hand to touch his neck, as if the collar was still there burning him with it's frigid embrace.

Aelin stood, nearly knocking her chair over. "_Lysandra._"

The courtesan whipped to face the queen, teeth bared. "You could have died, Aelin."

Aelin was unmoved. "But I didn't. I knew what I was going into."

Lysandra sighed, slipping on the gloves, concealing the snake tattoo. "You make us worry for you so." She gave Aelin a pointed stare. "If I get wrinkles before I'm twenty-five we'll both know the cause."

Aelin offered a simpering smile in answer. "What a shame that will be– especially for my cousin. The lost of your pretty face will be something to be mourned."

Lysandra's cheeks coloured and she immediately turned to the door with a soft growl. "I only saw him once–"

The queen giggled. _Giggled_. Dorian couldn't remember when she'd ever had the occasion to laugh like that. It softened her face, setting her Ashryver eyes alight. "Send the letters to the East; the Deserted Peninsula and Wastes, will you, love? I have some friends there."

Lysandra slammed the door in answer.

"You own a _courtesan_?" Dorian found himself asking into the silence. A _female_ escort? Was his real question. Not that he had a problem with it. Aelin was Aelin, but no matter how Dorian thought back, he couldn't recall if she had ever outright stated she had a preference for either gender.

"Own?" Aelin snorted. "Lysandra? No, I don't keep snakes in my bed."

"But Lysandra works for you, does she not?" he inquired carefully.

Aelin slid him a coy smile, as she carried the tray Lysandra brought in to him. "Why are you so interested? Jealous?"

Dorian fought his answering smile. "Just curious. And a bit bored."

Aelin took away the mug of hot cocoa and urged the bowl of tonic into his hands. "Drink." Dorian gulped it down obediently, cringing at the bitter aftertaste. He let the bowl clunk to the tray and Aelin whisked it away.

"Lysandra was Arobynn's," she said quietly.

Dorian recoiled, then winced as his muscles twanged. "But Lysandra can't be older than you. She–"

"There are no choices, Dorian," she snapped, then considering her tone, softened as she said, "not when you are an orphan in an unfamiliar city. Not when your own mother would sell you to a brothel for a few silvers to save her own hide." Aelin turned to him, eyes hard. "Not when you starve on the streets, prostrating yourself to strangers hoping one may be so kind to spare a coin for your day's meal."

"But," he said, voice hoarse, "but–"

She shook her head, tendrils of her hair escaping from her jeweled combs. "There are no choices when it's either that or death." Aelin shut her eyes for a moment, then opened them, a hand gripping her desk as if it were the only thing steadying her in a black ocean. "One might say people like us– Lysandra, me– that we chose life because we were cowards." Her eyes shone. "But is that not strength? To persevere, to make the best of this hellhole?"

"Aelin," Dorian breathed. His heart clenched for that girl, the eight-year old princess who was forced to grow up too fast, grow in an environment that shoved her down when she desperately needed someone to back her up. His heart broke for the child who had no love save for those she cherished in her heart of wildfire. His heart splintered for the woman that child matured into. Despite her upbringing, had mercy and morality, despite the world, still clung to hope.

She brushed at her cheek and smiled. "Lysandra is a kindred spirit. It doesn't matter whether you are trained for the bedroom or to become death incarnate. The motions– they are all the same." Aelin shrugged, attempting to lift the mood.

"And Archer?"

Aelin's face didn't change. "What of him?"

"Does Lysandra know you killed him?" A dangerous question, considering what happened when last winter.

"Archer and Lysandra were two of the most sought after courtesans in Rifthold," was the queen's reply, "Archer took up many high-paying clients. I doubt anyone mourned his death except perhaps his clients, and Clarisse, who no doubt lost a fortune. Lysandra– well, I paid her debt to Clarisse in full. she's a freed woman now, my secretary, but former courtesans can be quite testy regarding their brothel tattoos." Aelin arched a brow. "There are many stigmas surrounding their occupation and they have an obsession with beautiful things. You should not have stared at her so."

"I'm sorry," Dorian said automatically.

Aelin shrugged again. "Tell that to Lysandra."

Silence fell again and Dorian stared at the tray where vestiges of herbs clung to the edges of the bowl. A face flashed behind his eyes as he blinked. Dark chestnut tresses and clear hazel eyes. Delicate, fluttering golden dove hands in an earthy workroom. "When I'm better," he said thoughtfully, "remind me to thank the healer who made me that." Dorian inclined his head toward the bowl.

A glimmer of gratitude at the subject change. "Why?" she teased. "Does it taste horrible?"

"I have tasted better," Dorian said honestly, "but it is not so bad. Honey might sweeten it, make it easier to swallow for the younger ones."

Aelin eyed him, curiosity shining in those blue-gold eyes. She didn't give voice to her questions, for which Dorian was grateful. "I will keep that in mind next time."

He jolted. "You made this?"

The queen blinked. "It was made for me in Wendlyn when I was…" she gestured toward him, "like that and I knew it would be useful someday so I memorized the ingredients."

"It really is not that bad. You might want to try your hand at healing."

"I don't have the magic for it," Aelin admitted. "The magic from my mother's line, the water magic of the Ashryvers, is not very strong in me. I can heal myself, perhaps a few others with minor wounds, but it is insufficient for major healing." She paused. "You could though. I doubt there is much you cannot do with your raw power."

Dorian tried to shrug. "There's not much I can do at the moment." He immediately knew it was the wrong thing to say when a strange light shimmered in her eyes.

"There is always something to do," she said, with a cheeky grin. Humming, Aelin gathered up a pile of the many stacks of paper on her desk and dropped them unceremoniously into his lap. "Start by deciphering these letters." She plunked the key on top of the pile. "These are correspondences from the rebels in Eyllwe and the Bane."

He squinted at the dense lines of symbols and glanced at the key. "These are addressed to Nox Owen and Dianna Brackyn. Why do these names sound so familiar?"

Aelin hummed louder, sounding pleased with herself. "That's because you know them. See if you can figure out who they are as you read those over."

They worked quietly for a while, the silence while not ideal, became companionable rather than smothering.

Text swam before his eyes and Dorian pushed the letters to the side. He blinked, resting his burning eyes and gazed into the fire that glowed and sparked, warming his chilled skin, but did not consume the wood. They hadn't added a log in hours.

Dorian marveled at her control. Aelin did it with half a thought– was barely consciously thinking about it. It was effortless for her.

"How do you do that?" he breathed.

"Hmm?" Aelin glanced up, and seeing him watching the fire, coughed self-consciously. "How do I maintain the fire?"

Dorian nodded. She placed the papers in her hands down and twisted her hands together thoughtfully. The flames danced with her movements, twisting and licking up the smokestack as if showing off their mistress. No smoke however, Dorian noted. Because the wood was not being devoured.

"It's– it's difficult to explain," she mused. "Magic is a part of you– might as well be an extra arm or head. You command it to do as you will and it does as you require of it." Aelin chewed her lip, staring at the fire. "A baby must learn to use their limbs, learn to steady their legs and stand. At first it requires effort, they are muscles that are being used for the first time, but over time it requires less energy, becomes as easy as breathing."

She glanced at him. "It's a miracle your magic remained undetected for so long. A miracle you remained undiscovered with so many watching you."

"I had help," he said quietly. Aelin merely tilted her head, an unspoken gesture to continue. But Dorian couldn't say her name. Just two syllables, but enough to choke the breath from his lungs, ice his heart.

"Her name was Sorscha," he rasped. "She was a healer assigned to me."

_Was_. The word seemed to echo. Aelin looked down, schooling her expression, the silver in her eyes, before looking up at him. "You loved her," she breathed, barely a whisper of air.

Dorian didn't know how he found in himself to nod. "She was a rebel." His voice became quieter and quieter. "She worked for Ren Allsbrook. And my father killed her."

Eyes unfocused, he traced the pattern of the armchair with a trembling finger. "He beheaded her right in front of me. For consorting with the rabble, a rebel no less."

"We'll make him pay," Aelin said, with an unyielding sort of strength. "For your healer, Sorscha. For my parents, for my kingdom, for the ones enslaved. I swear to you." And perhaps for the defeat and agony still in his eyes added, "You honour her by living, Dorian. Not surviving–living."

"How did you deal with it? With losing your Sam?" Dorian got out.

Her magnificent eyes flickered. "Those days," she murmured, "before I was captured, it was a blur." And when she looked at him, Dorian doubted she was actually looking. "I had no chance to mourn, to see his grave before I was taken away from him and thrown into the King's dungeon… and after that…. I don't think I cared about much of anything at all. So I drank whatever they gave me, ate whatever they fed me and waited for death, waited and waited to be reunited with Sam. I begged your father for death– but he would not give it to me."

Dorian stiffened. He had not been told these details. In no report had Celaena Sardothien ever talked.

"Then they took me to Endovier, to break me. But couldn't they see?" Aelin bowed her head. "I was already broken. Sam was my heart and they _took him away from me._" Her jaw worked, silently. "So Lysandra and I... we took a long time with Arobynn. We made sure he felt every minute of Sam and Wesley's torture. We drew it out longer than that actually." He shivered at the midnight smile Aelin shot him– not with fright, but anticipation. "They will all pay at the end. All debts will be fulfilled in full."

So they talked and planned well into the night.

And when Dorian's eyes became heavy from looking over the maps and drafts, Aelin supported him as he hobbled to the bedroom. Settling against the mattress, Dorian gave the queen a thoughtful look. "Do you ever think of what could have been if my father hadn't done all those things?"

Aelin said nothing as she lifted the blankets and placed them over his shoulders, with a gentleness that broke his heart. And when she finally met his gaze, Dorian could not look away from the steely queen who stared back at him. "We do not look back… It helps no one and nothing to look back. We can only go on. To whatever ever end," she ended with a whisper.

Dorian grasped her hand. "We will change the world, Aelin. Together."

Aelin smiled slightly. "Together, princeling."

...

**And if you caught it, yes, I did include a queen of shadows line in there. ;))**


End file.
